


As You've Always Been

by deanniker



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Spanish Inquisition, they've always been together but not... together together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26153518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanniker/pseuds/deanniker
Summary: It is no more filthy or grim than others they have been held in over the centuries, but this cell feels different. Chains are thicker now, walls are stronger. There are more guns, they fire faster if not more accurately. And the crushing weight of the ocean hangs over their heads. Yusuf closes his eyes, tries to calm himself with the sound of Nicolo breathing, the feel of his bony ankle against his own calf. Nicolo still doesn’t speak, but after a time he begins to hum - calm, soothing things he knows Yusuf likes.Or,They've been inseparable for centuries but never quite managed to say they're in love.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 93
Kudos: 730





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was spawned from a post on tumblr that speculated that the team would have no way of knowing when Joe and Nicky got _together_ together because their dynamic would have hardly changed. I can't find the post now, unfortunately, so if anyone knows what I'm talking about please let me know so I can link it!
> 
> Set during the Spanish Inquisition, so I'm playing a bit fast and loose with the timing on this one regarding witch trials and Quynh, but then so is the film ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> The warning is for some very brief non-graphic torture and some general bloodiness - nothing really graphic but I wanted to be cautious.

“Well,” Yusuf says. “This did not go so well as I hoped.”

Nicolo, beside him but too far away to touch, leans forward to spit blood onto the floor of their cell. He strains against the chains that bind his hands, yanking at them, but it’s no use. Yusuf has already tried on his own set of manacles, and they are firmly embedded in the wall and the chains are too short to get the leverage they need to break their own thumbs. So for now, they are trapped in the dungeons of the inquisitors. But at least they were captured like amateurs, a blow to the back of the skull that dazed them rather than killing them outright so they are not under greater suspicion than any others.

Nicolo, stubborn man, keeps trying, cutting himself open on the metal. Yusuf sighs and leans back against the wall. He stretches out his leg, hooking his ankle over Nicolo’s. “They will release us eventually, for questioning,” he tells him. “You will be better able to fight them if you save your strength.”

Nicolo huffs, but subsides after one last rattle of chains. He hates when Yusuf is right but is usually willing to concede when he is. He twists, reaching out with his own leg so that Yusuf does not have to stretch quite so far. 

They are silent, after, which is unusual for them. Nicolo has not spoken since they first woke in chains. The times when they needed to speak to plan their escapes are long behind them, but Yusuf would usually be taking this time to share anything useful he noticed that Nicolo might have missed. 

They both know that the other didn’t see anything, but that is not the reason they are not speaking. It is no less filthy or grim than others they have been held in over the centuries, but this cell feels different. Chains are thicker now, walls are stronger. There are more guns, they fire faster if not more accurately. And the crushing weight of the ocean hangs over their heads. Yusuf closes his eyes, tries to calm himself with the sound of Nicolo breathing, the feel of his bony ankle against his own calf. Nicolo still doesn’t speak, but after a time he begins to hum - calm, soothing things he knows Yusuf likes.

The inquisitors wait several days before coming to fetch them, which is unfortunate. They may not be able to die from starvation, but they are still weakened by empty stomachs. Even so, they shift when they hear a key turning in the lock, drawing their feet in closer to their bodies. They glance at each other. Nicolo’s mouth tips up, and he nods.

Four men enter the cell. Two have weapons, but once they are released it will still be a simple enough matter for the two of them to handle. 

One of the men with a sword works his way around the cell, keeping out of reach of Yusuf’s legs until he is close enough to hold the blade to Yusuf’s throat. Yusuf huffs at that, annoyed, but it is always better to live to fight at a later time, so he does not bother trying to resist as one of the other men binds his feet together. 

They pull him away from the wall until his shoulders strain, turning him onto his side to keep him off balance as they reach up to release his hands. It is only then that Yusuf realizes they have not done the same to Nicolo. That they have left him chained against the wall. 

The dread he has been struggling to keep at bay surges back in an instant. “Nico,” he says. “Nicolo.”

They release one of his hands, but keep a firm grasp on his wrist, shoving his face into the floor and twisting his arm around behind his back. One of the men kneels on top of him while his other hand is released. Yusuf should be fighting, should be straining against him, but he gasps against the floor instead, unable to do anything but breathe in the smell of misery, of blood and piss and shit as his wrists are bound together.

The man with a knee in his back gets off of him, fisting a hand in Yusuf’s hair and dragging him up to his knees. Yusuf’s eyes meet Nicolo’s, to find his shock and terror reflected back at him. He can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think. He hasn’t felt this way since that first death, when he felt the ice-cold sting of Nicolo’s sword part his insides. “Nicolo?” he manages through numb lips.

Nicolo jerks toward him then, and Yusuf tears away from the hand in his hair, lunges forward, buries his face in Nicolo’s neck. Nicolo’s breath is uneven, panting as though they’ve been fighting three days instead of lying in this cell - from this close Yusuf can feel him swallowing hard, over and over again. He’s yanking at his chains again, hooked his strong chin around Yusuf’s shoulder and wrapped his legs around Yusuf’s body. He’s trying to twist them, trying to flip them over so that Yusuf will be out of reach, but by the time Yusuf realizes this it’s too late to move with it. The inquisitors are prying apart Nicolo’s legs. “No,” Nicolo murmurs frantically. “No, no, no.” 

“Nicolo,” Yusuf says, as he’s hauled up and away. 

“No,” Nicolo shouts. He’s bleeding from the cuffs again, and Yusuf wants to tell him to stop but he can’t, can’t even reach out towards him as the door swings shut and separates them. 

“Yusuf!” Nicolo screams. 

They do not take him far - there is another room close by where they strap Yusuf down to a table, shove a rag into his mouth, and hold up a bucket of water. Yusuf shakes his head, tears spilling from his eyes - from the reminder of his fallen sister, from the shame and relief that comes with the realization that even though he will drown it will not be like her, and from the way he can still hear quiet, calm Nicolo screaming his name.

By the time they pause from torturing him, Yusuf feels a bit more like himself, though he can still hear Nicolo screaming and it makes him want to rip apart these men with his teeth. They ask him to confess that he remains a Muslim - admitting that it is the truth would likely lead to his death, and perhaps an escape, but who knows how long that would take. Besides, that is unthinkable with Nicolo’s yells echoing around him. “Fuck off,” he growls instead, unwilling to lie. 

They try again. 

When the water finally clears from his lungs, he can still hear Nicolo screaming, though every yell of Yusuf’s name is followed by a low thump, which suggests that he has found some way to free himself of his cuffs and is now throwing himself against the cell door. The men torturing Yusuf exchange perplexed glances, and one of them goes to investigate. Yusuf smiles. 

The remaining men move on to questioning him about sodomy. Yusuf rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. Nicolo has stopped screaming, which means that in a few moments these men won’t matter. “You want me to confess?” Yusuf asks. “Fine. I am Muslim, yes, though I cannot admit to sodomy. I suppose I cannot blame you for thinking that about Nicolo and I - the bond that binds us together runs deeper than anything you could comprehend.”

As if on cue, Nicolo kicks open the door. He looks like a wild man, blood smeared over his face and down his arms. He’s picked up a sword along the way - he decapitates two men in nearly the same motion, and advances towards the remaining inquisitor with a crazed look in his eyes. The man backs away, making the sign of the cross. “I suppose I cannot blame you for that either,” Yusuf tells him, before he is run through.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo breathes, simply letting go of the sword, not bothering to remove it from the dead body that crumples to the floor. His fingers slip against Yusuf’s bonds - his hands are shaking and they are slick with blood, but the rope yields in due time. “I thought…”

“I know,” Yusuf tells him. He wraps his arms around Nicolo as soon as he is able. He is still trembling, but after a few moments the tremors slow, and he brings up his own arms to wrap them around Yusuf. As always when they are like this, Yusuf feels something slot into place - peace and comfort and surety in all things.

“Let’s go,” Nicolo says, pulling away. He avoids Yusuf’s eyes as he draws back, which is unusual, and Yusuf frowns as he follows. 

***

They hide in an unoccupied house in the city. It makes Yusuf nervous to stay so close to where they were taken, but he is also tired enough to be grateful for the opportunity to fall asleep in a soft bed for a night.

When he wakes in the middle of the night, Nicolo is not in the room with him. Again, it is strange - Nicolo rarely leaves him alone after a mission that goes as poorly as this one. But then one of the curtains leading to the balcony flutters, and Yusuf catches a glimpse of Nicolo bracing himself against the railing. Yusuf goes out to join him. 

“You should be resting,” Nicolo tells him. “They tortured you.” He’s slipped into Italian. Yet another oddity - languages jumble up in his head, he cannot slip back and forth like the rest of them, so he always strives to stay with the language of whatever country they are in for the practice - or failing that, into Arabic with Yusuf for the same reason.

“So should you,” Yusuf counters. “You were the one that fought.” He frowns. “How did you get out of those cuffs? They were tight.”

“I bit off my thumbs.” 

Yusuf feels slightly nauseous, both at the picture he imagines and how bland Nicolo’s tone is. “For me?” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Nicolo flinches. Yusuf can barely see it in the moonlight, but he does.

“Talk to me, Nico,” Yusuf says.

Nicolo turns his head toward him for a moment, before looking back out over the roofs that make up Zaragoza. “I have been thinking of Quynh.”

That is not surprising. Yusuf has rarely stopped thinking of her since she was lost, and it will never be possible to forget her when they face capture. “What about her?” he asks. 

“What I said to Andy, when we found her,” Nicolo says. 

Yusuf remembers that day perfectly, as much as he wishes he couldn’t. He remembers Andy, stone faced and shattered when they finally tracked her down, how they’d each taken one of her hands, and knew something was wrong by how weak her grip was. When Andy finally brought herself to tell them enough to understand Nicolo had run outside to vomit in the bushes, leaving Yusuf to pull Andy into his arms. But Nicolo had come back and knelt at her feet, and told her that Quynh would know that they would search for her, that they’d find her, that Quynh knew she was loved. It hadn’t been exactly what Andy needed to hear - only Quynh could ever know that, but it was close enough.

“You know that we had to stop looking,” Yusuf tells him. They had all known, but Nicolo had been the one to voice it, after so many years.  _ We can’t find her, _ he’d said,  _ and there are others that suffer that we are not helping. _ It was the only time Andy killed him since the first time they met - she’d clawed at his face, screamed at him in a language neither Yusuf or Nicolo could understand, put out his eyes, and strangled him to death before he could bleed out. 

Again, it was not exactly what she needed to hear - but she had listened, in the end, and sent them off to Spain. 

“I was thinking about how she knows she is loved,” Nicolo says, very distantly. “Does she know? Even now, after all this time? After we stopped searching for her?”

“She does,” Yusuf tells him. “You know she does.”

Nicolo ducks his head. “Do you?” he asks.

Yusuf frowns. “Of course,” he says. “Of course I know that.”

Nicolo straightens up, catches Yusuf’s chin in his hands, and for the first time since they escaped, looks him straight in the eyes. “Do you know that I love and cherish you above all others?”

Yusuf’s entire body seizes up. They have always been closer to each other than to Andromache or Quynh, but looking into Nicolo’s eyes, wide and raw - he knows that is not what Nicolo is asking about. He can’t make himself speak.

Nicolo nods. “That is what I thought,” he says quietly, releasing Yusuf and turning back to the view from their balcony. “I would bite off my thumbs if you were taken from me. If I needed to cut off my legs I would do it, my arms too. If you needed a new heart I would crack open my ribs and present you with mine, and if I could not come back from that I would smile as I died with your name on my lips. All these things, I would do for you. Anything. And yet, I never bothered to tell you.” He runs a finger along the railing. “After Quynh I told myself that if we ever faced a situation like that I would never let you be taken from me without telling you how much I loved you. But I did not manage even that.” He sighs. “I’m sorry Yusuf, I thought it was a powerful love, a love worthy of you. But I see now it is not.”

Yusuf swallows. “Why,” he croaks out. “Why did you not say anything?”

“I don’t know,” Nicolo tells him. “I had excuses, at first. And once I forgot them it felt like it would not change anything. We were always together. We were already beyond words.”

“Not these words,” Yusuf says. 

Nicolo bows his head. “I know,” he says softly. “Will you… will you let me remain by your side?”

“So that you can continue not to tell me you love me?” Yusuf demands, angry with him in a way he has not been for centuries.

Nicolo flinches. “Yusuf, I…”

Yusuf shakes his head in disgust, turning around and stalking back inside. He fights his way under the blankets, tugging them up over his ears so he doesn’t have to watch Nicolo come in. 

The mattress dips, the sheets pull tighter against Yusuf’s face. Nicolo, sitting.

“Yusuf?” Nicolo says. “I did not think you would be upset by this. I -”

Yusuf surges up. “How else am I supposed to be?” he asks. “You tell me you love me, but you do not care to act on it. You would kill yourself for me, but what are your deaths worth if you refuse to to live at my side?”

A long silence, and then: “Oh.”

Yusuf huffs and looks away. 

Nicolo takes his hand. “How long?”

“I don’t remember,” Yusuf lies. In fact, he knew he loved Nicolo before they stopped killing each other. One of his swords shattered during one of their battles, and he’d snarled and kicked away the larger pieces before trying to slit Yusuf’s throat with what was left on the hilt. He’d failed of course, but his ferocity had been so beautiful that Yusuf regretted striking him down. It had not been an easy love, at the beginning - but it had always been there.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo says. His voice is so gentle, so calm. It is a voice that Yusuf has spent centuries listening to, a voice that he could never turn away from. 

Nicolo is so close, a few spare inches from Yusuf’s face. He comes even closer. 

It does not feel like a first kiss. Nicolo’s lips are firm against his, familiar. He is not hesitant, or overeager. He bites gently at Yusuf’s lip, he reaches a hand up and tugs at Yusuf’s hair, drawing a moan out of him. When he pulls away, Yusuf can’t help but sigh at the loss.

“I love you,” Nicolo says. “I would be like this with you for the rest of my days.”

Yusuf clears his throat. “Do you think your poor kiss is enough to tempt me?”

Nicolo’s face blanks out for a second, before he bubbles over with laughter. Yusuf reaches out, running a thumb over Nicolo’s smile. He has always thought that Nicolo does not smile enough.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to tell you,” Nicolo tells him seriously. 

“You love me,” Yusuf marvels. 

Nicolo nods. “I do not think anyone has loved someone more than I love you.”

“You’re wrong,” Yusuf tells him. 

He was aiming to make Nicolo laugh again, but Nicolo melts instead. “Am I?” he asks.

“Terribly wrong,” Yusuf says, leaning forward to kiss him again. “Pathetically, even.” Nicolo does laugh then, until Yusuf smothers it up.

When they go to bed it is not so different than it has been before. They’ve shared beds thousands of times over the centuries, huddled for warmth, held hands in places where that was the fashion. They’ve slept exactly like this before, and contentedly too - the last time Yusuf held Nicolo in his arms his heart had not ached. The cold had not been an excuse, there had been nothing buried or shameful about it. Nicolo had not been completely wrong when he said things wouldn’t change. It’s why Yusuf never said anything either - it never felt like anything was missing. 

Nothing has changed, but everything has. Holding Nicolo like this, for no other reason than because he loves him, and knowing that Nicolo wants to be held for the same reason - Yusuf has never been this warm before, never felt so at peace. He cannot help but nuzzle against Nicolo’s neck and say: “You are a fool. A cowardly fool.”

“No more so than you,” Nicolo tells him sleepily. He squeezes Yusuf’s hand. “And I am the one who actually said something.”

“More’s the pity,” Yusuf says. “Your declaration was shameful, very gruesome, quite alarming. It made me feel a bit sick.”

Nicolo chuckles. “You did not like it?”

“I will treasure it in my memory forever, as I have every word you have spoken to me.”

Nicolo inhales sharply and when Yusuf reaches up to feel his cheek it is hot to the touch. Unflappable Nicolo, who blushes so easily - just one of the many contradictions that draw Yusuf to him. Gentle until he picks up a sword, quiet until he has reason to scream. Solemn until Yusuf startles a laugh out of him so hard that he snorts. 

“I will spend all my days searching for the words to tell you how much I love you, and my nights cursing myself for having failed,” Yusuf says. 

“You have so little faith in your skill?” He is trying to tease, but it comes out breathless. 

“I know my love, and I know that it is too much for any language to describe.”

“Yusuf,” Nicolo breathes, soft and pleased. “Yusuf.” 

Yusuf kisses the back of his neck. “Sleep, my love,” he says. “I will get started tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is more introspection, and things get a little spicy!

“What does it mean for me to love you now?” Yusuf wonders out loud. 

Nicolo is laying out the food he went out for this morning, fresh bread and handfuls of oranges. Yusuf had not liked waking to find him no longer in his arms, but it was not an unusual occurrence for Nicolo to rise first and begin setting their day into motion. Yusuf should not have thought that would change, but as he waited for Nicolo to come back Yusuf began to consider… other things that may or may not change. 

Nicolo’s hands pause, but his expression as he finishes and turns to Yusuf is steady and clear. “What do you mean?” he asks. 

Yusuf is in no mood to equivocate. “I know I do not need to kiss you to love you. Does that make it a purer love? If I kissed you now, would that cheapen it or strengthen it?”

Nicolo’s chin raises a bit. “You already kissed me last night.”

Yusuf hums. If Nicolo thought he knew the answer he would not be deflecting. Yusuf does not know either, hence his asking. But he does know this: “I would like to kiss you again.”

One side of Nicolo’s mouth ticks up. “You have not eaten in four days,” he points out. “Neither have I. Would you have us starve?”

Yusuf smiles. “I suppose not,” he says. 

He slices the bread while Nicolo squeezes the oranges and they trade each other for their portions, as they have so many times before. But instead of facing each other, they sit side by side, and Yusuf takes Nicolo’s hand when they begin to eat. Nicolo squeezes, gently, and does not let go. 

Yusuf uses that hand to pull Nicolo to his feet when they are both finished. “No longer in danger of starvation?”

Nicolo shakes his head and lets himself be tugged forward, but there is a strained look in his eyes now - one that Yusuf recognizes from whenever Nicolo begins to try to master a new skill. Yusuf relishes those first fumbling steps that come as he tries new things, but Nicolo has always been uncomfortable with his own imperfections as he learns, even as he stays true to his goals with dogged determination. Often that leads to a wonderful outcome, Nicolo’s deft hands as he cooks, his skill with a bow - but sometimes he just kept himself miserable as he struggled through something he was not suited to long after he should have stopped.

“Nico.”

Nicolo’s mouth tightens in frustration, and he shakes his head. “I’m fine, I -” He closes his eyes, breathes deeply. “I just -”

Yusuf brings his hands up to his lips, kisses his knuckles softly. “No one will ever love like we do,” he says. “We have nothing to prove.”

“I  _ know  _ that,” Nicolo bites out, but there’s a pleased flush on his cheeks. Yusuf kisses them, and draws back to find that they’ve pinked even more. Nicolo repeats the action, pressing his lips to the skin above Yusuf's beard in turn. Yusuf could not stop himself from smiling even if he cared to try. 

They continue trading touches back and forth. They are chaste to start with, polite. Things they have already done at one point or another. Hands stroked down arms, kisses pressed to foreheads. Yusuf is trying to decide if all the mundane things they already do feel different with this new context, this new understanding, and the answer to that is mostly no. There is nothing new about touching Nicolo with gentleness.

Yusuf wonders if Nicolo is looking to answer the same question with this slow exploration, or if he’s searching for something else. Yusuf is usually confident that he knows what Nicolo is thinking, and the fact that he cannot be sure here is oddly thrilling. 

Nicolo is currently looking down at the way his fingers rest against Yusuf’s hip. He’s testing his grip, tugging and pressing just the slightest bit, to see how Yusuf moves with it. From this close Yusuf can see that he’s biting his tongue, letting just the barest bit peek out from between his lips. Yusuf is overcome with such a wave of affection that he feels dizzy with it.

“I love you,” he says, because he can do that now, he can say that whenever he wants. 

Nicolo looks up at him, startled, before his mouth widens into a smile. “And I you,” he says. 

The words create an impasse - for a long moment neither of them moves. Yusuf takes the opportunity to look upon the man he loves. Of course, he already knows every plane of Nicolo’s face, and has spent fortunes on paper to capture Nicolo even though he is long past the point where he needs sketches to remember him. But they rarely have a moment like this, where the purpose is only the looking. 

Nicolo shaved this morning, the fuzz that had started to build up during their capture removed. Yusuf always prefers him like this, when he can see the smallest change in Nicolo’s expressions. His hair is on the shorter side again, chopped to just below his ears. Yusuf reaches out and tucks a few unruly strands behind his ear.

Nicolo sucks in a breath. His hand, still on Yusuf’s hip, flexes, hard. Yusuf slides his hand down, traces the sharp line of Nicolo’s jaw with his fingers. 

“Good?” He asks, because they’ve reached the reason for this experiment, and they need to speak. 

“Yes,” Nicolo replies. His hand takes it’s time exploring the length between Yusuf’s hip and his chest. 

“Yes,” Yusuf says, without waiting to be asked. 

The first kiss is closemouthed. 

Nicolo is just a hair shorter than him in bare feet. Half of the time their shoes make up the difference, it’s not even worth mentioning. But here, now, it  _ does _ make a difference. Nicolo tilts his head up and Yusuf’s chin dips to meet him. That’s what needs to happen in order for them to kiss. Yusuf moans. 

Nicolo pulls away at the sound, eyebrows raised. Yusuf cups his face. “I’m taller than you,” Yusuf whispers. 

Nicolo’s forehead scrunches, “I… yes?” he says, confused.

Yusuf crowds closer to him, until there is no space between them. “I’m  _ taller  _ than you,” he repeats, voice shaking with wonder as he guides Nicolo’s chin up with the slightest hint of pressure. “This is… this is how we fit together _.”  _

Nicolo's eyes flare with understanding, and his breath shakes out of him. “How we fit together,” he repeats, raising a hand to rest against Yusuf’s neck. 

Yusuf presses forward again, but not to kiss - just to breathe against each other, to feel Nicolo’s nose digging into his cheek, to feel his chest expand with each breath, the brush of his eyelashes as he blinks.  _ “Yusuf,”  _ Nicolo says, awe dripping from each syllable, and Yusuf has no choice but to turn into him.

When Yusuf presses forward with his tongue Nicolo opens for him. Nicolo moans when their tongues brush against each other, and shudders when Yusuf draws Nicolo’s lip between his teeth. Yusuf tries to pull back - even with the way Nicolo’s hand is digging into the back of his neck he wants to be sure - but Nicolo chases him, and Yusuf has no choice but to melt into it, to allow this deep, slow kiss to continue as though it will never end. 

By the time they break apart they are breathing harder. One of Nicolo’s hands is buried in Yusuf’s hair at the base of his skull, and his other is fisted in the cloth at Yusuf’s shoulder. For his part, Yusuf has one arm wrapped around Nicolo’s back and one hand caressing the side of his neck and no intention of moving either of his limbs anytime soon. 

It would not have gone on for so long if they didn’t enjoy it, but Yusuf is desperate to hear it from his lips. 

“Nico?”

“Yes,” Nicolo rasps. “Yes, Yusuf -”

Whatever he meant to follow that with is lost as he sways forward, his mouth open and greedy, licking into Yusuf’’s mouth right from the start. Yusuf moans as he matches him. Yusuf can no longer concern himself with being skillful - every sweep of Nicolo’s tongue muddles his thoughts even more. They haul each other forward with clumsy hands, stumbling against each other. Yusuf’s jaw aches from the strain, but he can’t stop trying to open wider, to press against Nicolo harder, to let him in deeper. The hand in Yusuf’s hair turns into a fist, one that drags him forward, that keeps them pressed together. 

When they finally break apart for air they do not go far, bracing each other up by pressing their foreheads together. “Yusuf,” Nicolo gasps. “My Yusuf.” 

Yusuf’s hands card through Nicolo’s hair, marveling at the way the silken strands slip between his fingers. “I’ve made a decision,” he says. 

Nicolo traces the curve of Yusuf’s ear, and Yusuf does not bother trying to suppress his shiver. “What is that?"

“There is nothing we could do that would cheapen my love for you.”

Nicolo’s laugh is breathless, but no less beautiful. He steals another kiss. “I never doubted it.”

“Forgive me for considering it,” Yusuf asks.

Nicolo draws back. “Forgive you for being thoughtful? For wanting us both to be sure and comfortable in what we want from each other?” He shakes his head. “No, Yusuf. I cannot forgive you for loving me so wonderfully. Do not apologize for being the man that I love.”

Yusuf draws him back in for a kiss, for the pleasure of it and because he will lose his reputation as the wordsmith out of the two of them if he allows Nicolo to continue speaking.

“I would like to make love to you,” Yusuf whispers against his lips, which is not going to help him win back his reputation, but his mind is so clouded at this point that he is just pleased that he managed to make his point.

“Would you?” Nicolo asks, low and pleased, as he steps back and begins leading them towards the bed.

Yusuf nods, following.

Yusuf does not try anything involved, this first time. He does not think he has the coordination for anything more than this - one hand pressed above Nicolo’s heart, so he can feel the rise and fall of Nicolo’s chest against his fingers, the other wrapped around Nicolo’s cock. He’s seen it before, of course, even touched it a time or two, an inevitability when you have lived beside someone as intimately and as long as they have. But never like this, hot and hard in his grip and so, so beautiful. 

“Yusuf,” Nicolo pants, laid out on the bed. His hands, fisted in the sheets, clench in time with Yusuf’s slow strokes. “Yusuf, you -” His hips stutter upwards, but Yusuf loosens his grip, not giving him what he wants. “Yusuf, please -”

“You’re not going to rush me, my love,” Yusuf tells him. His voice comes out steadier than he feels. “You wouldn’t ask me to end this quickly, would you? You will let me look upon you like this for as long as I desire?”

Nicolo closes his eyes and moans, but he settles his hips back on the bed. He loosens one of his hands from it’s death grip on the sheets, places it over the one Yusuf has on his chest. 

Yusuf’s eyes soak him up, the red flush of his face, steadily spreading down toward his heaving chest, hair growing messier with every toss of his head. Every part of him is a vision, but Yusuf finds himself drawn most often to Nicolo’s mouth, the way he bites at his lower lip, the way it tips open when he gasps as Yusuf firms his grip, how his jaw clenches when Yusuf slows down even more. 

Nicolo groans. “Yusuf -”

“Don’t ask me,” Yusuf pleads. “Let me take my time - you have been one half of my heart for five hundred years and in all that time I have never been able to see you like this.”

Nicolo bites his lip again, nodding, eyes opening to find Yusuf’s again. The trust in that gaze is not new, but it still floors him. “Just -”

“What?” Yusuf asks, ready to give him anything. 

“Come closer?” Nicolo asks.

Of all the things to ask for. “Of course,” Yusuf says, smiling. He lies down on his side next to him, kissing Nicolo’s shoulder, hooking one of his legs over Nicolo’s.

He has to move more by feel now, can’t see as well if ihe wants to keep his eyes trained on Nicolo’s face, but in some ways the angle is better, closer to how he might stroke himself, and after a while he settles on a rhythm that has Nicolo gasping and clutching at him, twisted towards him as much as he can with Yusuf’s leg keeping his lower body pressed against the bed. He drags Yusuf forward, for a kiss that is more teeth than anything. “I’m going to,” he warns.

Yusuf nods. “Go on, then.”

Nicolo clenches his jaw when he comes, sucking in air through his nose before letting it escape in a whine from between his teeth, fingers digging into Yusuf’s scalp so hard it is painful. His thigh strains and trembles beneath Yusuf’s as warmth coats his palm.

His Nicolo, so fierce even in this - until all the tension floods out of him, and moves his hand from Yusuf’s hair to rest against the side of his face, thumbing ghosting over Yusuf’s lips. “Yusuf,” he whispers. Nicolo’s chest is still heaving, but when he presses forward to kiss Yusuf his lips are gentle. “That was wonderful. Thank you.”

Yusuf sidles closer to kiss the tip of Nicolo’s nose. “You’re welcome.”

Nicolo chuckles and draws him into a proper kiss before pushing Yusuf back, down onto the sheets. He slides over Yusuf’s body, knees on either side of Yusuf’s thighs. The position draws Yusuf’s attention to his spent cock, the come coating his stomach, and Yusuf’s breath catches in his throat. Nicolo notices, of course, and his eyebrows raise. “You’re going to draw me like this, aren’t you?”

Yusuf places his hands on Nicolo’s thighs, stroking against the hair there. “Yes,” he admits. 

Nicolo smiles at him, and then reaches down and wraps his hand around Yusuf’s cock.

Yusuf moans immediately, just from the sight of it, and the barest hint of pressure. 

Nicolo lets go, to trail one finger up from the base to the head, and Yusuf swears in languages he’d been sure he’d forgotten. “Please,” he begs. 

“Oh, that’s how it is,” Nicolo says, as he repeats the movement. “You can tease me, but…”

“We both know you are the patient one,” Yusuf gasps. “Nicolo, please.”

Nicolo huffs but grasps him properly, and immediately begins stroking him. He keeps his eyes fixed on Yusuf’s face, until he finds a rhythm that makes Yusuf buck up beneath him. Words fail Yusuf again. “Fuck,” he manages, completely helpless in the face of Nicolo’s fingers on him, the way he’s wringing pleasure out of Yusuf like he was born to do it. “Just like that, just -”

“You’re so beautiful,” Nicolo tells him, eyes blown wide, fixed on where he’s gripping Yusuf so wonderfully. He looks up, holds Yusuf’s gaze. “So beautiful. From the moment I saw you I knew I would never find another like you.”

That does it. Yusuf whimpers and turns his head and comes all over Nicolo’s hand. Nicolo leans down and kisses Yusuf’s chest, sighing against his skin when Yusuf runs a grateful hand through Nicolo’s hair. “Wait here,” he whispers, before sliding off the bed. He’s only gone for a few moments before he returns with a damp cloth to clean them with, and after he’s finished he climbs back into bed, curling up against Yusuf’s side. It is natural to slide an arm around him - Yusuf does it without thinking.

“What now?” Nicolo asks. He’s back to using Spanish, and Yusuf sighs. 

They will have to leave this bed, this house, go do what they can to keep the inquisition at bay. It seems a doomed endeavor - Andy sent them down here to help anyone who refused to convert leave Spain safely, but people are understandably unwilling to leave their homes, their livelihoods. Nicolo and Yusuf can be persuasive, but not when they don’t truly believe in what their cause. 

“How do you feel?” Yusuf asks, staying with Italian for now. 

“Still a little shaky,” Nicolo tells him. Their bodies recover from the trauma they endure, but they learned long ago that they still need more time to recover, that if they jump straight back into things they will be clumsy and sloppy - they’ve yet to decide whether it’s physical or mental, but it doesn’t matter either way. Often It is a curse, but perhaps this time it can be a small blessing, an opportunity to stay with each other like this a little longer.

“Tomorrow?” Yusuf asks.

Nicolo nods. 

“Well then,” Yusuf says. “Today, I would like to do that several more times. I would like to sketch you after, so that I have proof that you allowed me to see you like that when I begin to doubt my memory. I would like to tell you that you are the most wonderful man I have ever met, that I ever will meet. You are water in a desert, you are flickering fire in a field full of snow. You’ve called me an artist before, a poet, but I would have no reason for paints, for verse, if I did not know you. I would like to tell you that I love you so deeply it would terrify me if I didn’t know there was no reason for me to be afraid.”

Nicolo is quiet against him for a moment. He turns his head into Yusuf’s shoulder. “You are so full of passion,” he whispers. “I love you”

Yusuf presses a kiss into Nicolo’s hair. “I’ve always known that,” he admits. “Always. But it brings me great joy to hear it from your lips."

Nicolo nods, solemnly. "Then I will sure to tell you everyday." He shifts a little, so that his head is resting more on Yusuf's chest - Yusuf knows that it is so that he will not have to readjust his arm to keep it from falling asleep, and he smiles at the realization that Nicolo intends to fall asleep like this. Sure enough, Nicolo's breath as it puffs out against Yusuf's skin evens out, and his fingers begin to twitch against Yusuf's ribs - he has always been a light sleeper, falling easily into dreams. It tickles. Yusuf nudges his hand up to his chest, where he is less sensitive, and closes his eyes and prepares to join him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](https://deanniker-wastingtime.tumblr.com/) losing control of my life, if that's something you're into.


End file.
